


all my walls

by temerity (forsanethaec)



Series: midori sours [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Feelings, Football | Soccer, Fraternities & Sororities, Genderswap, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsanethaec/pseuds/temerity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, when Louis is asleep beside her in his bed, Niall is only distantly thinking about how she has class at 10 a.m. tomorrow, and her friends at home, and that she ought to start keeping a toothbrush here. Mostly she's thinking about how happy she is to be the one person with whom Louis can't take himself seriously, and at the same time wondering what it would be like if he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my walls

**Author's Note:**

> note to everyone that i am never allowed to write a college au ever again because i will want to keep writing it forever. if you give a mouse a college au, etc. here's 8k more of this that no one wanted! rejoice!!!!!! it will kind of make sense without the first part but then again the first part is just drunk canoodling so OKAY. continued thanks to lucy for things.

Louis won't seem to stay out of her life after they first meet, and it only takes her a couple of weeks to stop thinking he ought to. They're sort of like friends with benefits -- like instant best friends, with a lot of benefits. It's admittedly a bit strange, and her sisters tell her so early and often. It's months later and they're still cat-calling when she gets a text from him, lying on the floor of the living room with her Complex Systems notes. 

"Fuck off," she mumbles, grinning as she gathers up her things. Louis wants her to come watch the footie team's Sunday scrimmage. 

"You're blushing," Laura says. 

"I am not." She totally is. "I'm allowed to have a platonic male friend. You're all just jealous."

"Niall, I love you, and Louis's cool, but you guys are not platonic," Amy, her roommate, says from the couch, her eyes fixed on the Red Sox game. Niall blows her an apologetic kiss. So what if they've sexiled Amy a few times? It's weird to do it at Louis's apartment; she always feels like she's committing some kind of dire breach of morality when she wanders into the kitchen in Louis' sweatpants the next morning and is greeted by a rueful Liam offering her tea and toast. 

Niall takes a thermos of lemon and ginger tea and some low-priority homework and goes down to the quad to watch the match. She can never get any of the girls to go with her. They do all like Louis, and they like hot soccer players and procrastination. Niall thinks they're just put off by her and Louis's whole thing. Whatever it is. 

Louis waves a delighted hello when she shuffles up and sets down in the grass on the sidelines, tugging her socks up from inside her boots and over her leggings. He's wearing #17 on his jacket, pink-cheeked and windswept in the early spring air. She cheers them on, both sides (Liam's captaining the other squad), yelling profanities and trying to get some work done while keeping her eyes on the game. 

A campus tour passes by and she tries to look cool while sketching in her graph paper notebook, a gear diagram and a shitty chassis for her thing she's meant to be building for class. 

"Heads up, Niall!" comes Liam's voice. She looks up just in time to dive for the soccer ball flying at her head. She catches it one-handed, flopping back in the grass.

Louis is standing over her when she sits up, back-lit, his feet between her outstretched legs. 

"Nice save," he says. 

"Thanks," she says, tossing the ball to him. "You nearly finished? Want to get lunch after?"

"I'll be all smelly."

"Just how I like you."

He beams at her while his teammates wolf-whistle back on the pitch. "Stop flirting and get back on the line, Tommo!" someone yells. He winks at her and jogs back. 

"Keep your hair on, lads, it's only Niall," she hears him shout. It makes her frown. She drinks some tea while she watches them keep playing, sticking her nose into the steam and trying to get her focus back. 

The problem is, if they were dating, he would have leaned down and kissed her then; if they weren't, his teammates wouldn't have been taking the piss. The other problem is that she's happy like they are. She just wishes she understood it a little better.

*

She came in as a sound engineer, but found she liked the engineering bit better than the sound, so now she's doing mechanical; she's still got her guitar, and between the two she's got everything. Louis is a year ahead, studying early childhood education, one of his year's only blokes. He spends more of his time being a jock than anything. She likes that, that neither of them's quite a fuck-up and neither's doing perfect, either. 

"Yeah, but you're still a nerd," he tells her. He scrawls antennae and a mustache on her prototype, which is taking shape at the center of her notes on the cluttered dining hall table where they've been camped out for two hours.

"And you're a babysitter," she says. It's a Tuesday afternoon, just before midterms, so of course Louis isn't doing anything. She catches his hand atop her notes and draws a dick on his palm. "Get us some cereal?"

"I can, but will I?" He cups his palm against her cheek before he goes, and she flinches away, laughing. She checks her face in her phone camera after. There's a dick-shaped ink-smudge on her skin. 

She's cleaning it off when he returns with two mugs full of Lucky Charms. "They were out of bowls," he says. "Two percent for the lady." He hands hers over, sitting back down. 

"Cheers."

"What're you doing this weekend?" he asks with his mouth full. 

"Ugh, we've got ADPIdol." She laughs. "It's like an X-Factor charity thing. Don't even start with me. I wish I could be drunk, it's going to be brutal." 

"Are you singing?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"Are you playing guitar?" He puts down his cereal, giddy, which makes her feel good. She smiles down at the table.

"Fine, yes, I've been roped into it."

"Wicked! How come you've not said anything about it yet? Me and Liam'll do something. Won't we, Liam," he mutters, pulling out his phone. She has a feeling Liam will, even if he hasn't been told so yet. "We could go on with you!"

"That'd be cool," she says. She tries not to let on how much she wants to, immediately, how nice it is to picture herself with her guitar and the lads alongside her. "Can you two even sing?"

"Niall, I resent that question." 

"So that's a no, then?" She grins. He throws a soggy marshmallow at her. 

"Oh, you wait and see, babe. Wait and see. You come over tonight and we'll practice."

"Deal. I've got class." She steals a couple of cookies from the eight or so he's stashed with his things and stuffs one in her mouth. "I'll text you."

"Bye, Leona Lewis." 

"Alright, Gary Barlow," she laughs. He pelts her with marshmallows her whole way out of the dining hall. 

*

Niall had been planning to sing "American Honey" by Lady Antebellum, because she thought it would be funny and she not-so-secretly loves that band. It's got a guy harmony she'd been planning to just ignore, but maybe she can just force it on them and this'll all go off in a less outlandish fashion than Louis's involvement tends to create. 

"Liam's got laryngitis," Louis tells her by way of greeting when he's buzzed her up.

"Oh," she says. "That sucks, Liam, where'd you pick that up?"

Liam shrugs miserably from the couch while Louis makes the tongue-in-cheek blowjob gesture so that only Niall can see. She giggles. Liam frowns deeply at them both.

"He's being rude," Niall says to him. "So you really can't talk at all? Do you need some tea? Are you going to die?"

He shrugs and lifts his mug. 

"I'm very sorry you have to deal with this," she says, putting her arm around Louis' shoulders. 

"Thanks," Louis sighs.

"I meant him dealing with you, Louis," she says. 

"Oh, I see how it is. Well, I'll just take this--" he snatches her guitar case out of her hands before she can protest, "and you two can just stay here and practice your mime act, how's that?"

She laughs. "Give me that."

"If you want it, come and claim it," he cackles, dashing off to his room. Niall looks helplessly at Liam, who gestures to the TV. _Fellowship of the Ring_ is on pause.

"Ah," she says. "Well, feel better, Leem, we'll miss you." He gives her a thumbs up and mouths a Thanks and snuggles deeper into his blankets, picking up the remote. 

Louis has her guitar case open before him on his bed when she gets to his room, shutting the door behind her. 

"These are good," he says, looking up. He's reading the lyrics she's written on the lining.

"Oh my god, get out of there." She scrambles up onto the mattress and shuts the case, blushing. 

"They are!" 

"Thanks," she mumbles, grinning into her shoulder. 

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed," he says. 

"I'm not embarrassed." 

"Then I suppose you're just cute," he says, smirking. 

It's hard to know what to do when he acts like this. She'd give anything to kiss him, but it seems as though she shouldn't. Not yet, anyway. "Focus," she says. "I'm gonna teach you a song." 

She sings and plays the whole thing for him, confidence building as he watches. Sometimes when he looks at her she gets this lucky feeling, overwhelmed, like it's impossible that she deserves to have his attention, his little smile. His fingers are on the bedspread just beside her knee as though he wants to touch her but doesn't want to mess up her concentration. 

He does touch her when she's done, folding their hands together instead. "That's lovely, Nialler." She can tell he means it. 

"Been practicing," she says quietly. They just look at each other for a moment, then she breaks it, tugging her hand out of his, bustling about for his computer so she can pull up the original on YouTube. "There's this dude harmony, see, you can just sing it with me. If you still want to."

"I want to if you do," he says.

She watches him listen as it's playing, indulging in a bit of a fantasy where he was saying that about something else -- something she still doesn't quite have words for, like _Do you want to go out with me proper?_ or _Could we be in love?_

It's stupid, probably. He's a junior and he's got to start spending half his credit hours teaching next year, and he's hardly ever going to be around. He wants to go back and teach kindergarten or try to sign with his hometown Rovers when he graduates. She's got two more years and maybe more in grad school if she really wants to try to make this engineering shit work, if she even has the grades. If she wants to stay in the States, if she wants to go home. If she wants to leave her friends here or go back to her ones there, if they're even around, if anyone will have her. 

"Niall?" 

His voice cuts in, soft. 

"I listened to it twice," he says, a smile quirking at his mouth. God, she wants to kiss him. She could do it. She doesn't understand what her problem is. "Where'd you go?"

"What are we going to do when we graduate?" she blurts. "I mean… yeah, I suppose. I'm just thinking." 

He frowns at her for a long beat. "You've got two more years, love," he says. "You don't need to think about it yet." 

"I'll have to find some new English mates, won't I," she says, smiling. He huffs out a laugh.

"Don't talk shit like that," he says. "We've got plenty of time. I fully expect to be a super-senior, anyway."

"Twenty-five and still trying to graduate," she laughs.

"If I'm lucky. Or we could just conspire to get Liam held back, so he could keep you company."

She's laughing at that when he gets a text. "Ah, he heard me." Louis' room adjoins the kitchen. "Sorry, Payno!" 

The song is still playing on repeat on YouTube in the background, and he pauses it, setting the computer on the floor so he can face her properly. 

"You can't think about that stuff, Niall." His tone is emphatic, and she fancies he's trying to talk himself into believing it as well. "It'll work out. Always does."

"Yeah, I know," she says, chewing on her lower lip. She can't stop looking at his face. 

He sighs, then shifts forward onto his knees with his hands planted on either side of her hips so that he can kiss her. It unravels the knot of emotion building in her throat, and she melts into it, touching his side beneath his arm. She lies back, knees unfurling, and he follows her down, propped up on an elbow over her, sliding his hand over her cheek. 

"You've still got a bit of dick on you," he murmurs, smirking and thumbing at the place where he'd left the mark at lunch. 

"My fault anyway," she says without opening her eyes. She kisses him again, tipping her chin up to meet him. He's pressed against her side, heavy and warm, and he hums a little when she shifts into him, sliding her fingers through his hair. His tongue is slick and lazy against hers, and he tastes good, like his tea, which he won't let anyone else make for him. She curls her knees up so that they're as close together as they can be, lying the wrong way on the bed. It's not going anywhere but it's not stopping, either. She likes that he doesn't always have to go shoving his hands into her clothes. They've got a knack for telling when that ought to be happening; right now is just this, just nice, just easy. 

She tucks her nose beneath his chin when they break apart, her mouth wet and tingling with him. 

"We should practice," he says at length into her hair. 

"Don't wanna," she mumbles. 

"It's your show, Ni."

"You're the one horning in on my act," she says amicably, but she disentangles them anyway and picks her guitar back up from where they've pushed it to the top of his bed. He's all tousled and flushed, looking at her, and she can't help but grin at him. 

"You look good," she says, looking down at her fingers as she finds her notes. 

"So do you." He runs a hand through his hair, smiling. "Tell me when to come in." 

When he does, his tenor is thin and clear, and it blends under hers so sweetly that her heart breaks a little. She wishes she could bring him back and Liam too and make them sing with her and her lads in London. Not that she couldn't, but still. She just wishes she could keep him forever. 

*

They wow the judges (their friends) and the audience (drunk friends) on the night, and it's all so ridiculous that Niall can barely keep from just laughing her head off the entire time. Even Liam turns out, bless him, and claps extra hard to make up for being mute before he totters off back home to his tea and his Lord of the Rings marathon. 

"I've got a game tomorrow," Louis tells her as he makes no effort to resist being dragged up to the afterparty at the ADPi house. "I've got studying to do. I've got to hold vigil at poor dying Liam's bedside."

"I know the alphabet and basic addition are tough for you, babe, but you can take tonight off," she says. She's in a short dress and high heels on the steps of the porch, beaming down at him, and she feels like she could say anything to him right now and it would fly. 

"Yeah, but the other two," he says, biting back a broad grin as he looks up at her. 

"I've got nothing for those. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want to be irresponsible with me tonight." 

"Of course I do. I was just saying so that tomorrow I can pretend I tried. Are we doing shots?"

They are, and plenty of them -- lemon drops with Midori, Niall's specialty, plus other things you have to light on fire. The a cappella group that opened the show is there, which is elevating the quality of the party's drunken singing some, but not quite enough that it's not still a disaster. Niall is in her element, and she lets Louis go for a while. He's like the sorority mascot at this point, knows the rest of the girls in the house well enough to make his way. 

She gets a text from Amy while she's chatting to Laura and a couple of the others in the hallway. 

_not gonna be home tonight ;) get it in gurlll_

Niall sends her back a nonsensical string of emoji in thanks, grinning. 

"Who's that?" Laura asks.

"Greenie's off with someone for the night."

"Ooooh," they all chorus.

"Yeah," Niall says, laughing. "I think I'm gonna go find Lou."

"Ooooh," they say again. She sticks her tongue out, blushing, and texts Louis as she heads for the living room.

_whered you go??_

_Off doing dude things. with dudes_

_hahahah sexy_

_Ohhhh you know it! We're on the porch_

She finds him out there with a bunch of frat bros arguing about the relative bitch-ass-ness of football, which is predictably unsexy and in fact tends to turn ugly when everybody's drunk, mainly because Louis doesn't know when to shut up around douchey Americans who are bigger than him.

"Sorry," she says, sidling up to them and linking her arm with Louis's, "could I borrow you?" 

He pouts. "I've got national pride to defend, here, Niall." 

"Come talk footie with me, Lou, I'm much more interested than them." The other guys laugh like assholes. They're in Kappa Sigma. "Oh, 'cause lacrosse is so much more manly," she snaps at them. They keep laughing, like frat bros do when a girl's just insulted them and they're not sure how to react. She tugs Louis back inside. 

"I was gonna win that," he grumbles. 

"They won't let you come to our parties anymore if you start a fight," she tells him fondly. "Those dicks. They aren't worth it anyway." 

"Yeah," he says. "Fucking lacrosse, eh." 

"I know, right?" She's pulling him upstairs by the hand. "Fucking Kappa Sig." 

"I don't get it." He does a bit of drunken lacrosse miming. "With the nets." 

She laughs. They're at the door to her room.

"Is Amy here?" he asks. 

"She's out for the night." The lights are off inside, and Niall doesn't turn them on as she shuts the door. Her heart is thumping pleasantly in her chest, that tingly anticipation of being alone in the dark with Louis. 

"You rescued me," he says. She can tell exactly how he's smiling at her, even though she can only make out a shadowy sketch of his face. He reaches out for her, hands going around her waist, stepping her back into the side of Amy's armoire.

"Someone's got to keep an eye on you when Liam isn't here." She fights back a laugh and a shiver at the same time and ends up with a kind of convulsion. 

"Shh," he says. "Don't invoke him. It's not good for his health." 

He's leaning on her in the dark, grinning. Their faces are very close together. She can feel his breath on her lips, warm and alcoholic. 

It stretches, and stretches, the noise of the party thumping through the floor beneath them. Then they burst out laughing at the exact same time, falling together, clutching at each other's shoulders. 

"God," Niall says, face in his neck. 

Louis grins into her hair. "C'mere," he says, touching the line of her jaw until she tips her face back and he can kiss her, a little too hard to make it sweet and quiet, licking her mouth open right away. She wraps her hands around the small of his back, fitting them together, pressing fingertips into the softness of his waist. 

She puts her bare leg between his and rolls her hips forward, wanting to get him hard, and he gasps into her mouth, biting her lower lip. Her legs feel weak, like the weight of him is all that's holding her up. She's hot in her belly and between her thighs.

"Take your clothes off," he gasps, pulling back. She does, pulling off her dress and unhooking her bra, not bothering to be sexy about it. 

"You too, lad," she says, laughing, when she standing there in heels and panties and he's just gaping at her like a drunk idiot. 

"Sorry, sorry," he says. "Can't blame me for staring." He's smirking as he tugs his shirt over his head and undoes his flies. 

"I certainly can't." She kicks her heels off and steps out of her underwear last while he gets the rest of his kit off. It makes her feel younger than they are, just standing naked in front of one another in a quiet bedroom. She licks her lips. 

"On the bed, love," he says, letting his eyes drag over her. It thrills through her chest. She throws her covers back and lies down so he can drop over her, kissing her mouth and tangling his fingers in her hair. Almost all his weight is pressed against her and his half-hard dick is slotting against her hip. She reaches down between them and wraps her hand around him dry, flexing her fingers, feeling him fatten up in her hold. There's nothing quite like getting to do this with Louis. It's better than any other boy she's ever been with. There's something about him where she feels like she's more special, being worthy of having him this way. 

He slides a hand beneath her thigh to spread her legs. "Here," he murmurs, pressing two fingers against her lower lip. She tongues them in, slicking them up, keeping her eyes on him before letting him have his hand back. 

"Tastes like Skittles," she whispers, giggling a little before he slips those fingers between her legs and they're pressing inside her. Her breath hitches, back arching, and then his thumb is circling against her clit and she lets out a real moan, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. 

"I can fuck you, yeah?" he asks into her neck, biting at her skin, leaving marks. She nods quickly, panting as his fingers move. She's still got a hand around his dick, but it's a lot to focus on. She tugs his foreskin back from the head with a stroke, finding wet at the tip and working it down over his hot skin, twisting her wrist. He groans, his rhythm stuttering.

"God, that's good," he says. "You want it now? You're so wet for me. God, Niall." He pushes his hips up into her fist, kissing her hard, sucking down the little noises she's making. "Please."

"You know where the condoms are," she gasps into his mouth. She presses her thighs together when he pulls his fingers out, burning hot and desperate for him. "Let me be on top," she says, pulling her knees under her while he rummages around in her bedside draw on his stomach. She lays a hand flat on his arse because it's just so inescapably there, squeezing at the firm shape of it. 

"Fuck, okay," he groans. He sits up, turning so his back is against the headboard. He tears open the condom and rolls it onto himself. "You want me here?"

"Yeah," she breathes, staring at him. Sometimes when it's dark and late and they're both drunk and naked and they want each other this badly, she can't think straight for how hot he is.

She tosses her hair over one shoulder, straddling his thighs. His cock slides back and forth in the slick of her for a moment, nudging over her clit and making her shiver, before she lifts up. He holds himself beneath her, staring up at her face like he can't believe she's real. 

She sinks down onto him slow, breathing out on the first blunt push of him at her entrance and then taking him in all the way. 

"That's it." His head drops back, eyes closed. "Yeah, Niall." The stretch of his neck looks inviting. When she's flush across his lap, she leans down to suck a mark onto the column of his throat, just for a moment, before she starts to move. 

They've been having enough sex with each other since they met that she knows how he fits her, what it feels like to have him inside her, how every time feels like it's been too long since the last. She curls her fingers over the top of her headboard, breath shuddering out of her, leaning down over him so that her hair swings down on either side of her face. She tries to lift up a bit and sink back down, testing her coordination. His hands are at her breasts now, cupping them with both hands. It's a good angle, and when she raises up he dips his head to catch one of her nipples in his mouth, licking over it as it puckers up. 

"Oh, fuck, Louis," she gasps. "Hold my hips." She feels unstable but she can't let get enough leverage if she holds onto his shoulders.

"Yeah," he breathes. His hands go around her waist easily, helping her fuck herself on his cock, gasping in time with the pace she's setting. She's not feeling steady enough to keep him in her if she pulls off too much, so she rolls her hips instead, up and then back, rutting her clit against him. She says his name, going hot at how breathless she sounds in the dark, and he's gasping hers in answer, moving from where his lips are sliding along her collarbone to kiss her messily, their mouths open and both of them panting. 

"Are you good?" he asks in a slur, scraping his teeth over her lower lip. "Does it feel good, Ni?" 

"Yeah." It comes out as a whine. "Fuck, can you -- touch me, I need --"

He cuts her off with two fingers crooked up against her clit in his lap. "Yeah," he says. "That good, love?" 

"Louis," she moans. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses full against him, her nipples rubbing over his skin. She's moving faster now, losing her rhythm, hips bucking against the circles he's making with his fingers.

"Fuck," he says into her jaw. "Niall, are you gonna come for me?" 

"Yes," she gasps. Her orgasm is already building in her, rolling forward like a wave. She tangles her fingers in his hair, holding him in place where he's sucking on her neck, and bears down hard on his fingers, spread as wide open as she can, pushing her hips up. It's painfully good when she comes. It sears through her nerves and leaves her crying out and shaking across his lap, her fingers tight in his hair. 

"Oh, Christ, Niall," he says into her neck, clutching at her hips and then her arse. She's still shuddering around him, feeling the way she's clenching with the tail end of it, and somehow she manages to roll her hips one more time, to press her breasts against him, to kiss him. He comes with a jolt inside her, whimpering into her cheek. 

Niall starts giggling first once they've both gone still, happy and boneless, and it makes him laugh too. She kisses him again, then lifts up and settles back on her bum between his legs, shivering. He's leaning back against the headboard, panting up at the ceiling like he might not ever move again. 

"Are you gonna take the condom off, then?"

"Give me a minute," he says. He drags his arms up from the mattress and deals with it, wrapping it in a tissue and dropping it in the bin beside her bed. He settles down onto her pillows. "Get up here," he says. 

She drags the covers with her as she goes, settling into the bracket of his arms. She's still tingly all over and her room smells like sex. 

"That was lovely," she sighs into his chest, still laughing a little. She feels very drunk and very sleepy. He kisses the top of her head, his thumb moving in a gentle pattern over her shoulderblade.

"I cannot wait for breakfast tomorrow," he says. "With you."

She turns her face closer into him, embarrassed by how wide her smile is. 

* 

She gets a call from across the pond while she's at the match the next night with Laura and both of their littles. 

"Harry!" she yells, standing up atop the bleachers to watch Louis make a penalty kick. It's pretty loud in the stadium, even though soccer has next to no following at their school. Niall feels personally responsible for at least half their home attendance. 

"Hey, Niall, how's it going?" It's definitely the middle of the night in Britain, and Harry is definitely plastered. He's speaking so slow over the background noise wherever he is that it almost doesn't sound like English.

"I'm at a football game."

"You're at a what?"

"A football game. Louis's playing. Fuck, he's just missed the penalty. Ah, well."

"Oh, cool." He laughs. "Niall, we miss you. Bring your new English friends and come visit us." 

"Who's we? Is Zaynie there?" 

There's some shuffling, in which she can hear the music playing in the background. 

"Hey, Niall, you alright?"

"Hi, Zayn!" She grins. "Are you guys out?"

"Yeah, we're at a club." He giggles. "Harry's wasted, mate."

"I figured." She hears the distant tones of Harry's indignation. "What're you doing?"

"We opened for this band. It was cool, like. Yeah. It was cool." 

"Wicked," she says, even as it twinges at something inside her, knowing they're going off without her, having lives outside of their old friendship. "That's sick. But babe, I've gotta go, the match is ending. Call me tomorrow, yeah? I want to hear about it."

"Did they win?" comes Harry's voice.

"Fuck no," Niall laughs. "They're shit. Still better than you, though." 

Harry isn't even mad, which is the best thing about him. "We love you," Harry slurs into the phone. "Tell your boyfriend we say hi."

"He's not my boyfriend."

They both just laugh, and there's a chorus of bye-mate-bye and she can't get another word in before they hang up.

"Your mates?" asks Laura in her best English drawl. 

"My pals," Niall says back, American. The freshmen laugh. They think Niall is the coolest girl on campus, which is true, of course. 

"So are you going to formal with Louis or what?" one of them asks. Formal is the sorority's end-of-year thing, like prom, but… basically exactly like prom, to be honest. More legal drinking for those who are over 21, which Niall isn't and Louis is. 

"I dunno yet," Niall says, fiddling with her phone to avoid looking at any of them. 

"Oh, you're definitely going with him," Laura says. "The question is, is he _taking_ you or are you just _going_?"

"Shut up, Laura," Niall says affably. "Who're you going with, then?"

"I'm gonna ask your Complex Systems T.A."

"Ohmygod, hands off Eoghan! I need him to give me a B+." 

"He gave me his number at Starbucks on Monday." Laura tosses her hair while Niall mock-fumes, trying not to laugh. The buzzer sounds.

They all meet Louis and Liam down on the sidelines after. Both look a bit put out, but they smile when they see Niall. 

"Good game, boys," she says, giving them both a double high five.

"Nah, wasn't," Louis says. Liam gives him a conciliatory punch on the arm. Liam's a team player. Niall had seen him give up on this game, which was against the top-ranked team in their conference, sometime around when the score had hit 5 to 1. Louis isn't that smart. 

"Yeah," she says. "But that's okay, I love you anyways." She shifts her shoulders against the breeze. "Both of you. Wanna go get drunk?"

"It's a Wednesday." 

"Exactly." 

"Exactly, Liam," Louis says, turning to him like it was his idea. He cuffs him around the back of the head and pulls him into a headlock while Liam laughs. "Come drown your sorrows like a man."

Liam goes for Niall when her guard is down, hoisting her up so that Louis can grab her legs and they can put her on their shoulders. She shrieks. 

"If I'm ADPi's unofficial mascot, you're ours," Louis says up to her, grinning serenely while she struggles briefly and then gives up. 

"Fine," she says. "To alcohol!" All cheer. Louis kisses the side of her knee and everyone pretends not to notice, except Liam and Laura, who exchange tacit eye contact condolences when they think Niall isn't watching. 

Later, when Louis is asleep beside her in his bed, Niall is only distantly thinking about how she has class at 10 a.m. tomorrow, and her friends at home, and that she ought to start keeping a toothbrush here. Mostly she's thinking about how happy she is to be the one person with whom Louis can't take himself seriously, and at the same time wondering what it would be like if he did. She thinks about all the ways she looks at him, and the ways he looks at her, when they're dicking around together on the quad, when they're sat in easy silence studying, when he's kissing her, unbuttoning her jeans. 

It makes her throat knot up, because she's beer-drunk and her head is all cloudy. She's got it so, so bad. 

*

He doesn't mention Eleanor for weeks, at the beginning. Niall knows enough about the nearly year-long relationship and the breakup and all just from talking to other girls in Greek life, and she doesn't think she needed to press the point with him -- whatever they are, only a couple of months in, it doesn't feel as though it's her place. 

They're sort of studying, sort of napping on the floor in his flat the week before spring break when it comes up. He's talking about a travel game he had back at end of last term the weekend before a big test.

"Eleanor quizzed me on FaceTime the whole way on the bus, though, so it was alright," he says, before stopping, flat. He'd said the name with that tone people use when they're trying too hard to be casual. 

"Oh," Niall says. She considers her options. "That was like a month before…"

"Yeah," he says. "Sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"No, it's okay." Niall rolls onto her stomach so she can look at him properly, putting her elbow into the seam of one of her textbooks. "You haven't really said much about her. I figured it must have sucked." 

Louis shrugs. "She broke up with me over text message during the holiday." 

"Oh." 

He laughs, soft and humorless. "Whatever. I think she wanted to date someone she had class with and stuff. We hardly ever overlapped. I dunno why." 

Niall knows Eleanor is still single now, but she doesn't say anything. "I can't think of any reason why someone wouldn't want to date you," she says. 

He laughs again. "That's great, Niall, cheers." 

"Hey, I don't care, I mean it," she says. "Any girl would be lucky." 

He frowns at her, not saying anything. She feels awkward, suddenly, and grabs his Psych notes.

"Here, I'll quiz you. Fuck FaceTime. Look at this." She clears her throat. "Piaget stages. Did I say that right? God, I'm glad I don't have to learn all this shit." 

"I wouldn't trade you Complex Systems in a million, billion years," he says, grinning sideways. It's normal again, thank God. That had all gone somewhere it probably shouldn't have. 

"Are we in, like, an open relationship?" he asks after a while. She looks up.

"What?"

"Is that something we should know?" He's on his back on the rug, gazing at her upside down. "I don't care if you don't care, I mean, I'm just wondering." 

"You're just wondering." She laughs. "I don't know, man, you tell me."

"Kind of think we aren't, if this is how we talk about it," he smirks. "What does it even mean? Like -- being allowed to see other people, or something?"

Niall shrugs. "I mean, I've got nothing going on," she mumbles.

"Me neither," he says. "I don't know. It doesn't really seem like us, does it?" 

She draws a careful squiggle around the edge of his notes. "We could just…" and she should say not be anything, but instead she says, "be our own thing, I suppose." 

"You want to?"

Her breath goes oddly still in her lungs. She looks up at him.

"Yeah," she says. "That sounds good, Lou." She laughs, even though she knows she's flushing, and she knows he can tell. It feels like he remembers when he kisses her, later, but he doesn't say anything. 

*

She's in the library with Liam months later, just before finals. Liam's a sports medicine major, which means that he spends most of his time helping Louis get cricks out of his back rather than doing any real academics. Niall's occupied with the very productive task of writing an elaborate, handwritten plea for an extension to Eoghan the T.A., involving much name-dropping of Laura and dotting of i's with hearts, but she's gotten distracted watching Liam text his girlfriend. 

"Liam," she says, then shrinks a little when he looks up at her sharp tone. They're on the third floor where there's an unspoken rule that everyone gets to be a bit social. 

"Yeah?"

"Does Louis -- hm. Does he hook up with a lot of -- girls? Other girls?" 

Liam's eyebrows pull together. He puts his phone down on his open physio textbook. 

"Are you asking me if Louis cheats on you?"

"What? No."

"Because he doesn't." 

"There's nothing to cheat on," she says, going red. 

"Then -- I don't get what you're asking." His phone lights up, but he ignores it, and she feels a rush of gratitude at the same time as deep embarrassment that she even brought this up. 

"Forget it," she mumbles. "What're you studying? Looks laddy." 

"Niall," he says, frowning so hard his lower lip pushes out.

"Don't pout at me."

He's silent for a moment. "Look," he says, "I know you guys aren't proper together, but -- he isn't seeing anyone else. You aren't, are you?" He's suddenly alarmed.

"No, course not." 

"Niall, like, it's not my place, but he's my best mate and I know he'd do the same for me, whether I liked it or not." She laughs, and it makes him smile. "No," he says, "no, but he's absolutely crazy for you."

"I know." It's surprising how easy that is to say. 

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know!" She's gnawing on her lower lip. "It's hard to make him talk about it. Like… yeah. It's just hard." 

"It's weird sometimes to remember you're a girl." Liam grins at her. "I mean, I get bloody reminded all the time at home, but --"

"Fuck off." She throws a pencil at him, snickering. 

He catches it. "You should just go talk to him, mate," he says, pointing it back at her. 

"Yeah. Wait, right now?"

"I don't know, Niall, whenever you want. Term's over in, like, a week." 

"Yeah." She shivers suddenly. "You going back to Wolverhampton for the summer, are you?" He nods. "I'll still see you, then. And Louis. We'll figure it out." 

"Sure." 

She waffles for a moment, then shuts her notebook. "Fuck it. Is he over at your place?"

"I think he's at the field." 

"Righto. Thanks, Payno."

"Hey, happy to help. You idiots deserve each other."

"Taking that as a compliment!" she calls as she leaves him. Several people shush her, which for the third floor is saying something. Niall counts the study session on the whole as a success. 

Louis is down at the main pitch just as promised, kicking a ball around by himself under the floodlights. She dumps her stuff on the bleachers next to his. It's dusk, a perfect, silent spring night -- everyone's inside studying. The dorm that borders the field rises up behind the home goal end, all the windows lit up with strings of colored lights around signs declaring the occupants' Greek letters or other affiliations. Louis looks small all alone out in the middle of the field. 

"Fancy footwork, Tommo," she says. It's so quiet she hardly even has to yell. He looks up.

"Hey! Done studying? Come have a go."

"Sure." She's in sandals with her ADPi sweatpants, but she jogs out to meet him anyway and intercepts his pass with the bare side of her foot, sending it back to him. They've sparred like this and she's watched him play enough that they work well together, enough for laughs, anyway. She used to play in primary school.

She’s broken a light sweat by the time he backs her up to the goal, trying to get one by her. She dives to make the save, ending up rolling in the artificial turf with her arms around the ball.

"Get in," he cheers. "Let’s keep you on the bench for goal."

"Call me when you're semi-pro," she says, laughing. “Then we’ll talk.” She tosses the ball against her chest where she lies on the prickly ground.

He flops down beside her on the green. His skin is rough with sweat and night air, and she can feel the heat off him, hear his breathing settle. She checks for tension, though, and finds there isn't any. Just comfortable quiet.

“Hey, Louis?”

He rolls his head sideways, smiling lazily. “Yes, Niall?” he replies, all precious and fluttering. Sometimes she can't believe he's real.

“D’you ever think about how things would be different if we were, like, dating?”

If she startles him, he doesn’t show it. “Not really,” he says, frowning slightly. “Why? Different how?”

“I don’t know.” She looks up at the blackening sky. There aren’t any stars visible behind the glare of the halogens. “Just different.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Nah, I think we’ve got all the good stuff about that, and none of the bad stuff, know what I mean?” She glances at him, questioning, and he ticks it off on his fingers, “We get to hang out. We get to have sex." He waggles his eyebrows at her. "But you’re my best mate.”

“Liam’s your best mate.” It’s no bother to admit; it only seems fair.

“Yeah, well.” Louis grins. “You’re you.”

She smiles. “Then what about the bad stuff?”

He looks away, too quick, but he gives her an answer. “I just think… couples treat each other different.” His mouth twists sardonically up at the arch of the goal above them. “Couples can break up.”

“Oh.”

Louis shrugs against the ground. His customary nonchalance is rapidly falling away. “I don’t want to treat you like that,” he says quietly.

Niall’s whole body wants to reach out for him, to tell him she’s sorry for bringing it up, except she isn’t. She gets it now. It is so simple.

“We wouldn’t – we don’t have to treat each other like that, Lou,” she says. She turns onto her side, the fake grass prickling into her arm. “Hey. Look at me?”

He turns too. Their faces are very close together. She can hear people walking up on the walkway up above between them and the dorms, but she doesn’t think this end of the field is visible, and anyway she doesn’t care.

“Just pretend," she says carefully, "just for a second, pretend it’s different.”

“Why?” His laugh shakes out of him, far too late to pull them out of the moment.

“I want you to,” she says. She feels as though she’s in a trance. He looks so scared. She loves him at his loudest, the farthest possible thing from this, and she loves him at his most stripped down. It’s such a rarity that he gives both parts away. It feels like something precious.

"I don't have anyone else like you," she says. 

"I know."

"Do you?"

"No," he says, frowning, like he can't believe she'd ask. 

She reaches for his hand and laces their fingers against the turf between them. They both watch it happen, out-of-body.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she hears herself say. 

He takes a quick little breath. “You couldn’t if you wanted.” He tries for a smile, like it could be a joke.

She holds his gaze. 

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

He waits a second longer before he does it, bringing his other hand to her cheek and pulling her in. Her heart trips at the look on his face just before she shuts her eyes – brow furrowed, lips parted, staring like he wants to see every part of her at once. He catches her lower lip between his own first, fumbling, and then they’re kissing properly, crowding together like they’d be tripping if they were on their feet. He’s actually clutching at her, desperate, and it’s the answer to the question that’s been gnawing at her since they met: if he feels it the way she does.

“Niall,” he’s saying, gasping, biting into her mouth and gripping at the back of her t-shirt, “Niall, Niall.”

“Louis,” she says, trying to laugh and winding up with an embarrassing little sob-like sound. It makes him hold her tighter, his hand tangled in her wavy hair, their knees locked together.

He just breathes shakily into her neck for a long moment when they break apart. Neither seems willing to let the other go. The thrill of fear through her chest comes then, that she’s ruined this, forced it into something too intense and scared him off. 

But his eyes are sparkling when he pulls back just enough to look at her. “I should probably do this with flowers or something,” he says, "but can I take you to your prom?”

“Formal,” she corrects him, and then her brain actually processes what he's said. Her whole face lights up at once, and it's an immense, trembling effort not to laugh as she says, “Like, as mates, you think?”

“Maybe not." A smile pulls up the corner of his wet mouth. “Maybe as a bit more than mates.”

She’s grinning so hard so soon after kissing that her face hurts. “Yes, Louis Tomlinson, you can take me to formal as maybe a bit more than mates.”

He lets go of her hand, still clutched between them, so he can give her a fistbump. “I cannot wait to tell the team we snogged on the pitch like this," he adds, then flinches away as she laughs and goes to smack him at the same time. She manages to get a shove in. Louis rolls onto his back, giggling up at the night. 

Niall gets a public lecture at chapter the next day about PDA, and private congratulations from about eight of her sisters on being such a badass, skank, et cetera. It's definitely worth it.


End file.
